


sweet, sickening indulgence

by starrylitme



Series: Cling in Despair [3]
Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Attempted Seduction, Codependency, Despair, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mental Instability, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 01:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4900486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrylitme/pseuds/starrylitme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If you take me with you, I’ll make it worth your while. It’s been months. I’ve gotten really good at it, Kamukura-kun. Maybe... Who knows...? Maybe I’ll impress you.”</p><p>(“You need this as much as ever, I see.”</p><p>“Yes.” He doesn’t even hesitate. He laughs, <em>sobs</em>, really. “I really, really do.”)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to post this waaaaay earlier. Whoops. This had been like, a nfsw request on tumblr with KamuKoma and siiiince it fit in with my Despair KamuKoma AU...
> 
> Since there's three of them now, I put them in a collection. Isn't that nice? I think it's nice.
> 
> I like this one best thus far!

“Kamukura-kun, what luck! I was  _hoping_ I’d see you...” Komaeda’s voice breaks into giggles, and Kamukura barely turns as he’s stumbled into, spindly fingers grasping onto his suit, a head of curly white pressing against him as Komaeda trembles and, “It’s lucky—it’s really,  _really_  lucky I was able to find you right about now.”

Kamukura doesn’t say anything but he hears it—far off, a distant shout of Komaeda’s name. Komaeda likely can’t hear it himself but he’s still shaking, and Kamukura sighs. “Oh. So it’s finally gotten to that point.”

“It’s actually been at that point for a while now,” A soft murmur against him, with those fingers digging into the fabric— _he’s risking those wounds opening up by doing that, they must hurt_ —“Kamukura-kun...”

“So you’re desperate, then.”

Komaeda laughs, and smiles up at him. “Mm-hm. You’re right. Right on both accounts. See, I’m so desperate that, disgustingly, I was...”

Swollen fingertips traced the creases made in his suit, long pale lashes lowered, and Komaeda leaned into him further—enough that he was almost his sole support. “I was  _hoping_ ,” Komaeda whispered, soft enough to be swept away by the breeze, “that, perhaps, I could convince you to help me. If I’m found, they’ll probably break something, you know? And I—I’d really rather not deal with that. Not again, you see.”

“Hm.”

“If you take me with you, I’ll make it worth your while. It’s been months. I’ve gotten really good at it, Kamukura-kun. Maybe... Who knows...?” Those fingers curled around his tie, running up, thumb pressing into the center of the silk. Komaeda pressed just a little closer, lips a scant distance away, close enough Kamukura felt the chilly puffs of his breath. “Maybe I’ll impress you.”

“How boring.” He simply scoffed. “All this time and you’ve turned out the most expectable way.”

“Oh dear.” Komaeda pulled away, stumbling a bit but stabilizing himself, fingers still wrapped around his tie. His cheerful smile is only barely betrayed by the twitch in his curled lips. It could have been something else. “You’re right again, Kamukura-kun.  _But_.”

It could have been a sneer.

“The thing  _is_...” His grip tightened around the tie, a palm pressing against his groin, and stormy gray eyes met cold red. “You’re still human, you know. And you’re still subject to the most base and  _boring_  of desires. And maybe I’m not much—but I’m still enough of something, right?”

“You’re disgusting.” Kamukura told him, flat and monotonous. “And beyond deprived. What a mockery she’s made of you.”

“Because  _you’re_  such an untainted fossil of perfection, aren’t you, Kamukura-kun?” Komaeda laughs, low. “Another remnant, lost in this ruined world among others—and oh, you have to cling to  _something_ , don’t you? Come on. I bet you’ll make the _same_  face when I ride you—”

He’s quieted by a firm mouth against his own, by firm hands cupping his skull, fingers threading through thick, white tresses. He could have been crushed in an instant. In that instant, as Kamukura’s lips manipulated his own, deepening the kiss, dizzying him with the headiness of his motions, he could have been okay with it.

Komaeda doesn’t register it at first—that shortly after the moment swept him away, Kamukura quite literally swept him into his arms. He was lifted as easily as ever, arms wrapped around the other’s neck on impulse, and Kamukura only huffed as a soft sigh escaped his lips.

His eyes fluttered shut once he realized he was being carried away. That ringing in his ears slowed until he could no longer hear a thing.

* * *

_So it’s an abandoned house again. One of Kamukura-kun’s more normal choices. That’s fine._

He can’t complain. It’s not even all that dusty. It’s not luxurious in terms of comfort—but then again, what  _is_  nowadays? It’s preferable to that wretched girl’s lap, at least. Especially with Kamukura over him, hand sliding underneath his shirt, up until fingers trace over his ribs. Kamukura also busies his lips over the trail of his jawline, tongue tracing the curve of his ear, teeth nipping the top of the shell. His pants are already getting tugged down, a hand gripping and squeezing the juncture between his hip and thigh when exposed.

Komaeda’s breathing quickens when he feels the hot bulge of the other’s cock, hard against his hip. Kamukura hadn’t even unzipped, but he could still feel—still picture the size and girth that has his already drooling mouth water up even more, swallowing hard, heavily, and moaning shamelessly as Kamukura palms his groin, just the thin fabric of boxers between them.

He’s shivering when his shirt is pushed up, exposing the expanse of his front to the air, to Kamukura’s gaze. To Kamukura’s mouth—as his tongue flattened itself against his skin, brushing against a hard nipple, making him gasp as he took the bud into his mouth to torment.

He’s shaking so badly as his lower half is completely stripped, the bunched up fabric of his coat pushed aside as Kamukura’s lips trail down his stomach, press against his hip before tracing the curve down to bite into his inner thigh. When a warm hand wrapped around his swollen dick, there was little Komaeda could do but whimper, sharp and soft and hating himself for it, “Oh, oh,  _god_ ,”

It’s just so— _pathetic_. Pitiful, really. As though he were still a virgin to all of this when he wasn’t— ** _she made_ sure _of that, every single_ one _of them made sure no patch of skin was left untainted or unmarred_** —and even  _this guy_  was no different. No different.

 _Kamukura-kun doesn’t just_ hurt  _you—he doesn’t just pin you to a hard surface to fuck you. He’s never had to_  force _you into this once— **you’re**  the one far too willing to take his cock inside, whether it be fucking your mouth or just fucking you senseless. How  **desperate** —how _ **decadent** _have you gotten to be for someone like_ Kamukura-kun _, all because,_ **what** _?_

 **_...all because he’s the only person other than_ ** **her _to treat you in a way that could be called gentle..._**

 **_...almost like he_ ** **cares _about you or something..._**

Laughter burst from his lips, trembling little puffs that easily broke in between his moans, his quivering little gasps, those sickening, needy noises that made anyone else salivate. The finger he ends up pressing to his mouth has no nail to bite, nor the next, and that just makes his laughter harsher, more painful.

 _Disgusting. Right? It’s almost like..._  Kamukura’s thumb rubbed against the sensitive head of his cock, peeling back the foreskin, all while kissing the flowering bruises along his thigh.  _It’s almost like we’re lovers or something. Ridiculous._

His moan came out muffled from behind his hands. Then, slowly, intently, those hands lowered, his voice deceptively steadied, “Kamukura- _kun_. Isn’t this enough?”

Kamukura hums against his thigh, and crimson eyes flicker over to the cock in his hand, still hard, bubbling precum at the tip. As his breath quickens, Komaeda says, “There’s more than this that you  _want_ , right?”

That crimson gaze locks onto him, Kamukura pushing himself up. With a breathless laugh, Komaeda pulls him in to kiss, fingers curled around his shoulder and curved around his jaw, letting them brush back those long, dark strands.

“Honestly,” he starts, with a cheerful lilt, “You’re thinking about  _more_ , aren’t you? About just trimming all the gratuitous fluff and just cutting to the chase? You’re wondering, surely, if the experience is going to be the same even after all this time. Right?”

“Wrong.” Kamukura responds, gruffly. To that he giggled.

“ _Really_?” Almost like he doubts it. “Do you already know? You didn’t—you didn’t  _watch_ , did you?”

Kamukura looks unmoved to the untrained eye—but Komaeda knows, he picks up on the curl on his lips, the narrowing of his gaze, so slight, so quick it was easy to miss, and he’s sure he struck a nerve. Especially when Kamukura practically spits out—

“You’re  _disgusting_.”

“I would hope you haven’t,” Komaeda goes on without missing a beat, like he hadn’t said a word. “It’d be so _embarrassing_ —especially when I ended up crying. That sometimes happens, of course. Because they’re usually not gentle, like...” He has to stop himself there. But he has to still go on. “It still hurts! No matter how many times it happens! But... But, you see... It  _has_ gotten better...”

With a cracking smile, Komaeda reaches down, his own hand running over the back of his thigh, over the curve of his rump, up until his ruined fingertips are pressing into the pucker of his entrance.

“Look,” he says brightly, and two fingers go in at once. The wounds hurt, but the stretching doesn’t. “They go in so  _easily_  now.”

Kamukura takes his wrist, pulling those fingers out before replacing them with his own, grunting. They go in deep, a third pushing in as well, and Komaeda hardly felt a burn as his eyelashes fluttered. Kamukura does make a sound, a soft ‘oh’, and then, with his lips pull into a straight line, curled his fingers until they pressed into the spot that made Komaeda gasp, flushing, lips falling open wide.

“ _Oh_ ,” He blinked, hard, feeling his eyes sting as Kamukura drove his fingers in deeper, making him yelp, making him beg—“P-Please! Please,  _Kamukura-kun_...!”

“Begging,” Kamukura mutters, darkly, with a sharp jab into his prostate that had him yelp, staring down at his flushed, glossy face, at his drooling, panting mouth and wide, watery grays. “How expectable.”

_...Expectable... Disappointing... Right?_

Weak, thin arms draped around his neck, Komaeda so very weakly tugging him closer. More like coaxing, really, with those pink, puffed out lips quivering, parting, and silently pleading him even now.

“You don’t make that face for everyone, do you,” Kamukura says, lightly, as though it were a remark on the weather, brushing up against those soft lips, watching as white lashes lower, gray-green gaze fixated. Not even responding to Kamukura’s hand, curling over the nape of his neck, or even the kiss he presses to the corner of that mouth. “I assume you’ve retained at least some pride, even now.”

“How kind of you,” Komaeda remarked dully, following it up with a chuckle, smiling up at him, wide and bright. “And that’s what makes you so  _special_ , right, Kamukura-kun?”

Kamukura’s gaze narrowed, sharpened. And Komaeda only barely registered the brush of contact before he was thrust into—hard, fast,  _sudden_  with Kamukura squeezing his hip hard enough to bruise. Komaeda doesn’t make a noise, but just the motion is enough to get tears trickling down his face, and his eyes just roll back, head lolling into Kamukura’s hand.

“You weren’t lying,” he says, even as Komaeda remains unresponsive, only wheezes as he’s opened up, “It’s going in so  _easily_ , isn’t it? Does it burn?”

“A little—Kamukura-kun’s still rather thick after all...” The words are spoken as though he were in a daze. Komaeda closes his eyes tight, pinching up, almost like the moisture hanging off those lashes irritated him, and they do fly back open, widening when Kamukura licks those tear tracks away. “ _Ka_ —Kamukura-kun...”

Kamukura silences him with a kiss. A soft thing, that Komaeda had to be tilted into, fingers stroking through wild strands of white, lips so gently pressing against his own that they were the closest thing to fleeting, almost to the point of illusory. He doesn’t even have the time to plead for more before Kamukura starts moving again.

 _It does burn,_  he thinks.  _But he didn’t prepare me this time so it’s—expectable..._

In actuality, Kamukura was still being relatively  _careful_ , not thrusting with abandon or—or anything like that. He still pushed in the entire way inside, still wasn’t  _particularly_ slow—but he could handle that. He could handle that  _easily_.

_It’s not that painful. Kamukura-kun isn’t trying to hurt me. He’s just—_

Just seeking pleasure, right? Just going  _along_  with it, right? But he already knows that’s not really it.

Not really. Not with Kamukura angling his thrusts, not with Kamukura burying his face into his neck, not with those—those  _fingers_ that trail down his back when he ends up arching. Not with those lips that capture his own when he gasps, uncaring of how he’s drooling, lapping it all away in fact—and practically coaxing out moans with how that mouth moves against his own.

He’s already whining when Kamukura parts from him and—“Komaeda.”

Kamukura’s breath is warm, sweet, he likes to think. Desperately, Komaeda’s smile trembles, twitching at the corners, already on the brink. Crumbling more and more as Kamukura’s thumb strokes his cheek and states.

“You need this as much as ever, I see.”

“Yes.” He doesn’t even hesitate. He laughs,  _sobs_ , really. “I really, really do. Kamukura-kun.  _Kamukura-kun,_   _please_...”

He doesn’t need to continue begging after that. Kamukura doesn’t even let him, really. Because that mouth is as hard against his own as those thrusts go harsher, deeper and deeper—and it’s fine. Perfectly fine. He’s fine with being both kissed and fucked senseless. He almost wants— _he’s always **needed**_ —this.

_Just this. This and nothing else. Nothing else at all—what else is there? Just this right? Right? Please, Kamukura-kun, you’re such a disappointment otherwise—_

“ _Please_ ,” Komaeda manages, between kisses, and Kamukura kisses him harder, fucks him harder—he practically sees stars, over and over, bright and brilliant as his breath is continuously stolen from him, because Kamukura never lets him breathe for long before kissing him again, over and over.

He’s so close. He just needs—needs something  _else_  to tip it all over the scale. Maybe Kamukura’s firm hands around his neck, or...  ** _Or..._**

His thoughts stop in place when Kamukura’s hand wraps back around his dick, squeezing before stroking in time with his thrusts. Thrusts that don’t lessen, are still continuously focused on his prostate—are still making him  _squeal_  all on their own.

Kamukura does pull away from his lips to do all this—and if he weren’t so far gone, Komaeda would wish dearly that the other hadn’t because without that distraction, he can’t stop making these depraved, despicable and needy little  _noises_. Both sobs and whimpers, distorted words and maybe even  _names_  that have him cover his mouth, muffling them, choking on them, trying so hard to just beg for more and for it to just—just  _never stop_.

“I want—I  _need_ —” He hiccups, croaking when his voice breaks—and it’s hard. It’s so hard to think to talk and it’s starting to get too difficult to even think past those base, bland words of— _yes, yes, yes, please, please, please, **more** , feels—_ **so** _—good—I want— **I need** —_

**_Kamukura-kun._ **

_Kamukura-kun feels so good. Kamukura-kun’s so nice._

“ _Mm_...” He purrs as he digs his fingers in. Hard enough to tear open those wounds. But the pain doesn’t even register. All that matters— _all he feels_ —is the pleasure Kamukura-kun reaps, and isn’t that wonderful? He can’t stop laughing, smiling so wide it should hurt, beaming dreamily and ecstatically up at Kamukura’s dark, unreadable expression. “Kamukura-kun,  _Kamukura-kun_.”

_Kamukura’s gaze. Kamukura’s grip. Kamukura’s girth. It all feels so— **good** —_

Kamukura’s stare bores down on him, cold and distant when everything else is so feverish and intimate. And, maybe he’s imagining it—he doesn’t really care either way—but maybe Kamukura’s expression does shift. Does soften or something. Disappointment? Despair? It shouldn’t matter, though. Regardless of Kamukura’s feelings are at the moment—Komaeda is giddy with how he can’t feel a  _thing_  except this.

Kamukura is still thrusting into him, his body far too eagerly taking him inside, over and over, tightening around him as he gets closer and closer to that edge. Kamukura’s still jerking him off, too, in rhythm with his hips, and that tugs him closer to that edge, too. There’s really nothing else to it—nothing else but this that matters, that he’s needs so, so badly and had needed for so,  _so_  long.

**_It feels so good—I need this—I need—_ **

“Kamukura-kun,” he wheezes, weeps, with a weak, choked little giggle. “Kamukura-kun, don’t—don’t stop. Please.  _Please_?”

It should be pathetic, how he begs. It  _is_ , really. But in that moment he topples over that edge, when the pleasure envelops him and he comes hard into a firm, warm hand, he doesn’t care. Kamukura releases him to grip his other hip and go harder, faster into him and he doesn’t care.

His climax already had his vision swimming, mind fading in and out from those ongoing sparks of pleasure, and he can only giggle at it all, breathless and euphoric. He can’t really make out Kamukura’s blurring, dark expression, but he feels— _above all else just as he’s about to completely lose himself_ —that burst of undeniable warmth that fills him to the core.

And he’s more than satisfied with that. This kind of high’s beyond addictive, intoxicating, even now, as Kamukura does stop, does pull out, and kisses him before the emptiness has a chance to set in. It’s messy, wet, but he’s still so  _giddy_  as Kamukura tastes him, the kiss deepening and harshening.

“Kamukura-kun,” he’s almost out of it, but vaguely hears himself talking anyway, “I didn’t—I didn’t really repay you. I need to, right? I’ll suck you off—I’ll ride you... I’ll please you...somehow... I bet... I bet I could still come up with something... I...need to...”

“You need?” Kamukura repeats, low and sharp. He’s already nodding, and then he snivels, brokenly laughs. He wouldn’t have noticed how wet his face was if Kamukura wasn’t cupping his cheek, running his thumb over the slick curve. He does start to feel the pangs, from his lower half to his fingers that were throbbing and maybe even bleeding.

“I need you, Kamukura-kun,” Komaeda whispers, raw and so, so broken. Too broken to even be hysterical as his voice cracks just a little bit more. “You know that, don’t you? You feel it too,  _right_?”

Kamukura doesn’t answer. Komaeda doesn’t really feel any despair at that—it’s like he’s still in a haze. Like he’s separate from his own body that just wants to pull itself closer to Kamukura’s solidity and warmth. Which he does. He even buries his face into that sharp juncture between Kamukura’s neck and shoulder, breathing in his scent, and letting himself be— _wanting to be_ —enveloped in it.

“Kamukura-kun,” he mutters, drones as some of the pieces floating about in his haze finally click together. Whatever part of him that finally wakes up, even vaguely, is enough that he tiredly bites Kamukura’s shoulder that’s still covered in the layers of his suit. He doesn’t taste any stains or even dust. He’s not really surprised that it tastes clean, as far as he can tell. Still.

“I’ll lick your shoes, if you want,” Komaeda goes on, burrowing into that shoulder, ignoring that patch now wet with his saliva. “That should please you, I think.  _She_  liked that. Wouldn’t you?”

“Perhaps.” Kamukura sounds passive, almost light but not quite like he was really entertaining the idea. “Later.”

 _Let’s stay like this instead._  That’s what’s suggested, especially with how Kamukura winds his arms around his waist, especially with how Kamukura turns so that his lips brush against Komaeda’s crown, perfectly framed as happenstance, and how Kamukura just sighs.

Almost like they’re lovers or something. Or maybe this is a bit more of that indulgence, even if it’s a little too much of  _that_ kind of intimate for Komaeda’s taste.

 _Either way, it’s **sickening**. _ He thinks, too tired to even grumble when he’s already completely relaxed in the other’s hold. Komaeda lets out a sigh of his own, letting his eyes fall shut, and snuffles just a bit when he tries to breathe.


	2. A little extra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a request I had gotten a long while back that I wrote up quickly. Since it's more or less a continuation of this fic, I figured that like with the mermaid au, I'd stick it here instead of on Kamu/Koma/Hina Theater.
> 
> It's short, simple, and, uh...sweet...yeah... I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

With how the sky is, there isn’t much sunlight to filter through the windows. It’s still dark. Still dreary and really, he still wrinkles his nose at the scent of dust fighting with the stench of sex. His limbs ache and throb as he pushes himself up with a groan. Joints pop, and he takes notice of the sheet slipping from his naked back. How, in spite of the dirtiness of everything else, his own body was wiped clean beforehand.

Without thinking, he tugs that sheet close, pulls it back up and peers underneath.

No stains. Yellowing bruises. He couldn’t even tell if those were from before or earlier than that. His fingers at some point had been bandaged and immediately, he tore those off. And well, they look dreadful but they’re considerably healed up. Actually, they looked better than he would have thought. His wounds hadn’t gotten infected like he expected them to.

“Hmm.” He inspects his fingertips closer. Still hideous. But healing. He giggles.

“Komaeda.”

Komaeda flinches and to his surprise, Kamukura is standing there at the doorway, staring him down with those sharp blood-red eyes. Refined and elegant as always.

“Kamukura-kun,” he returns sweetly. “I would have thought you disappeared again. Did you seriously wait for your wayward partner to wake so you could wish him off? My, how chivalrous.”

“If that’s what you wish to call it,” Kamukura muttered, approaching him and darkening his gaze in the direction of those bandages he tore off but not commenting on it. “I have no interest in leaving this location so soon. I have no interest in forcing you to leave either.”

“In that case!” Komaeda exclaimed brightly, with a clap of his hands. “Shall I suck Kamukura-kun off or flip myself and press my face in the pillow? I’m still naked so whichever works.”

“I have no interest in either for the moment.” Komaeda found himself blinking furiously as the other simply and dully averted his gaze. Almost like he was trying to be polite. Ridiculous. That was ridiculous to even consider. “Do as you wish before you leave. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“It doesn’t?” His smile twitched at the corners. “Not at all? Nothing at all? I can do whatever I wish?”

Kamukura remained quiet, not even really reacting as thin fingers wrapped around his arm and tugged. He didn’t even resist. Not even a little.

“Kamukura-kun…” he whispers, softly with the same kind of smile slipping across his lips. “Back to bed then? Please? Or maybe I can try and force you. Wouldn’t _that_ be entertaining?”

There still wasn’t an immediate answer. Kamukura wasn’t even looking at him. Komaeda tugged a bit more, grip trembling, and body shivering.

“Kamukura-kun…?” He swallowed. “What are you even thinking?”

No answer. Nothing at all.

“Fine then.” Irritated, Komaeda pulled back with a huff, going back to burrow under the sheets. “I’m going back to sleep. I haven’t had much, you know? Might as well take advantage of the bed some more if you won’t. Good night, Kamukura-kun, even if it’s probably morning or afternoon. Who cares, right?” With a cheerful, biting laugh, he added, “I don’t. It’s all despairingly the same. Good night, Kamukura-kun.”

He shut his eyes tightly, stubbornly, twisting into the sheets.

“When you wake up,” Kamukura finally spoke up but he refused to visibly react. “May I ask you not tear off the bandages again?”

It really was ridiculous.


End file.
